


Just To Start A Fight

by Loserlovely



Series: So Happy Together [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Im projecting my own family issues onto baz, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Weddings, and ill continue until i get a confirmed supportive malcolm grimm, baz is sad oh no, dont worry there's a soft ending, its angst time lads, simon loves cowboys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 00:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21090092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loserlovely/pseuds/Loserlovely
Summary: "—think of what your mother would want, Basilton! To carry on the bloodline! You can't do that with him. With a man," My father shouts, a mad glint in his eye....Some people have different ideas on who a Pitch should be marrying.





	Just To Start A Fight

I don't know why he bothers. 

Around six months ago, Daphne invited Simon and I over to the house in Oxford for dinner. At this point, we'd been happily engaged for a few months, and we'd already told a few of our closest friends—Penny, Shepard, Fiona. We figured this dinner would be the right time to announce our upcoming marriage to my family. 

Evidently, it wasn't. 

My father threw a fit.

Tensions are always high when I bring Snow around my family. He's a right mess, most of the time—he has absolutely no idea how to act proper, even after all these years of my nagging about his awful manners and his atrocious fashion sense. Of course, I find these quirks of his disgustingly endearing. 

My father, however, only sees them as reasons to further disapprove of our relationship. I can only assume he has the list written down somewhere: Simon isn't proper. Simon isn't from the only families. Simon has no magic.  _ Simon is a boy. _

So when we announced our engagement, father very nearly lost his head, right there in front of my siblings and step mother.

Venomous words were thrown left and right. Knuckles hit walls. Insults and curses and slurs were shouted. I've been in my fair share of fights, both physical and verbal, but that by far was one of the nastiest. Dinner was cut short. I grabbed Snow—who had eloquently called my father a  _ 'wank stain of a human being' _ in order to defend my honor—and dragged him out the door without saying goodbye to anyone. 

(Simon was the one to drive home, even though he's a shit driver. He claimed that the last time I got behind the wheel in such a state, both of us nearly were incinerated.) 

(I didn't argue.)

I lost my composure after about thirty minutes of driving, fuming and sulking about everything that had been said. I sat in the passenger's seat of our car and silently cried. Simon didn't offer me any words of comfort—I think he knew I wouldn't have responded well to any of them. Instead, he interlaced out fingers and squeezed my hand all the way back to London, which did more to calm me down than any speech ever could have. 

Three days later, it was confirmed that the Grimm family wished to cut ties with me completely—no more visiting for holidays or birthdays, or going to one of my sibling's football matches. They might as well have had stricken me from the book.

(The only exception would be my cousin Dev, who, thankfully, is very happy for Simon and I. He's even one of my groomsmen.)

Fiona practically rioted when she heard. She immediately phoned my father and gave him a piece of her mind, swearing enough that even a sailor would blush. She tried consoling me, telling me I was a true Pitch, that I didn't need to be hanging around the likes of a bunch of magical farmers like the Grimms. She even told me how she thought my mother hit rock bottom marrying my father—but I already knew that. Fiona never shuts up about how mother could have done much better than Malcolm Grimm.

Despite all my efforts to convince myself that Fiona was right, it still  _ hurt. _

I'm his  _ son, _ for Crowley's sake.

Though I suppose being someone's child doesn't mean I'm entitled to unconditional love from a parent, I've always craved it. I've always had a hunger inside me to please my parents. It's partly why I worked as a puppet for the Old Families when I was younger. I thought that if I did everything I was told, if I did everything  _ correctly,  _ it would make up for being a monster. But father made it clear that no matter what I did, being gay would always deem me unworthy of his affection.

Needless to say, he did not receive an invitation to the wedding. 

And yet, he came anyway. He had the audacity to drive up in his sleek black Jaguar and expensive clothes, just fifteen minutes after Simon and I had become legally married.

Up until now, today has been unreal.

It started rough. I woke up with a bitch of a headache, and I've thrown up at least four times since then. I'm horribly hungover from the bachelor party Dev and Niall (and Fiona) threw for me last night, though I don't remember most of it. I'm fairly sure I have some form of alcohol poisoning. I even thought I was going to be too sick to actually go through with the wedding, considering I slept until half past two in the afternoon. 

(Niall was the one that had to finally hauled my arse up out of bed and help me get ready, despite my many protests. I look a mess, bags under my eyes and all, but it's better than delaying the wedding just because I got utterly pissed last night.)

Somehow, though, the moment I saw Simon, the horrors I had felt all morning snapped out of existence. The love of my life, grinning at me in his sharp black suit, bronze curls bouncing as he walked my way—seeing that was like a cure all for the hangover and the nerves.

I barely kept it together during the ceremony. My attention was torn between trying not to tear up from joy and staring at my soon to be (now official) husband, who looked (and still looks) absolutely delectable.

We kissed, and just like that, we were officially married.

_ I couldn't be happier. _

Of course, that doesn't matter to father. Malcolm Grimm is standing in front of me right now, operating under the delusion that I can still somehow back out of this marriage. That he can  _ convince  _ me to back out. 

He can try all he wants—there's nothing anyone can do to make me stop loving Simon Snow. 

"—think of what your mother would want, Basilton! To carry on the bloodline! You can't do that with  _ him. _ With a  _ man, _ " My father shouts, a mad glint in his eye. 

We're standing outside the wedding venue, father, Snow, and I. The bitter air of late November is turning our breaths into puffs of steam, the clouds above us threatening to flurry. I'm freezing, but with the anger pulsing inside of me combined with Snow's hand gripping my shoulder, I'm ready to burst into flames.

"How  _ fucking dare you!  _ You have no right to come here and say that to him! _ No fucking right! _ " Snow shouts. 

I need him to calm down. Even if there's no longer a threat of him going off like a bloody nuclear bomb, he's still capable of doing some considerable damage. Knowing Snow, he'll try to be the hero by landing a punch on my father's jaw. That's how he gets like this whenever a homophobic comment is shouted as us on the street—I have to practically hold him back. It's sweet, in some ways, knowing that he has my back, but he can't go around bludgeoning anyone who looks at us wrong.

He  _ especially  _ can't be doing that sort of thing right now. I can't very well let my husband ( _ Husband.  _ Crowley, I love that word) get hauled off by the police before we've cut the bloody cake.

Father's face is beet red, veins popping out of his forehead from anger. "He's my son, I can say what I'd like to him!"

"You've already made it clear you don't want me as a son," I say, voice cutting like a knife. I take a deep breath. 

It's sickeningly ironic. I've always mimicked the way my father carries himself, the way he doesn't let anything ruffle him. I've had years of practice, and by now it's almost second nature to not let any of my emotions slip. 

Now, however, my calm facade is threatening to shatter in front of the very man I learned it from.

"Your mother would never approve of this, Basilton. She would be disappointed in you, in your decisions."

_ I know she would.  _

Tears threaten to bud in my eyes, but I will them away. I won't show him that this hurts me. I can't.

Snow's eyes go wide at this, and I swear to Merlin that he's about to lunge at my father's throat, but I cut him off. 

"It doesn't matter what mother would disapprove of. It doesn't matter what  _ you  _ disapprove of," I spit. "Simon and I are already married. It's already over with.  _ And I'm happy. _ Isn't that what you should want for me? Happiness?"

"I don't understand why you've made this  _ choice,  _ Tyrannus! You'll never be truly fulfilled, living this kind of lifestyle—"

"I don't have a bleeding  _ choice! _ I don't get to  _ choose _ if I like men. I simply  _ do. _ I could never be happily married to a woman. Hell, I could never be happily married to  _ anyone  _ other than Simon. If you can't accept that, then leave. I don't need you in my life if you refuse support me."

My father gives me a fierce, dissatisfied shake of his head before turning away and marching off to his car. Snow and I both watch him in silence as he drives away, until his Jaguar is just a tiny speck in the distance.

When I finally lock eyes Simon, I break. 

I crumble towards his chest, letting my head rest on his broad shoulders as I wrap my hands around his waist and begin to cry. Not loudly—I try my best not to make a scene. I just let the tears run down my face and onto his suit that I'm probably ruining. 

One of his hands finds its way to my hair, and his fingers scratch at my scalp the way he knows I like, and I don't know what I would do without him. I don't know what I would do without him here, holding me like I'm the only thing in the universe that matters, even though I know he's still pissed off about what just happened.

I'm pissed off too.

I don't mean to cry. I never fucking  _ mean _ to cry, but I can't help it right now. No matter how much I've prepared myself for this, no matter how long I've known that my father doesn't accept me, it still hits me in my chest with all the force of a blunt knife. 

"We'll show that bastard," Snow whispers in my ear fiercely. "We're gonna live the best damn life ever. We're gonna be the poster couple for happily ever after, just you watch."

I sniff, smiling bitterly. Because he's an idiot. 

"I'm serious. You and me. We'll live in a fucking cabin in the countryside, all cozy and the like. And I'll shag you every bloody night until I die. We can adopt a cat or a dog or three children or whatever you want, and we'll all wear matching cowboy hats. You hear me, Baz?" He asks seriously. "This is a fucking threat."

That earns him a soft snort. Snow is absolutely obsessed with cowboy hats—he has been ever since he brought one back from our trip to America a few years ago. If he had his way, we'd probably be wearing them right now. That's what he wanted out of this wedding—something rustic, with barn animals and an unhealthy amount of scones. Of course I said no. I'd be staked through the heart before I let our wedding be officiated by someone in a cowboy get up, much less there be a horse carrying our rings down the islem It's a wonder we found compromise with this venue—a medium sized cottage up north. Its modern, it fits all our guests, and it's next to a field that hosts multiple goats. 

"You're such a fucking idiot, Snow."

"We haven't even been married for a full hour, and you're already insulting me," he sighs, kisses my ear. "And that's Snow- _ Pitch _ to you, sir."

I finally let go of him, wiping my face with one hand and holding his with the other.

"I'm so sorry he came here," I apologize. 

Snow shakes his head. "I'm the one that's sorry, darling. Seriously. Don't listen to him, alright?"

I shake my head and swallow.

"Simon—"

"Boys?" Bunce's voice rings through the harsh November air as she walks towards us. She's in a lovely dark blue dress, one that makes her vibrant red hair pop. She's done it up in a twist. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but people are starting to wonder where you are. They think you're getting off in a broom closet somewhere, and that isn't a classy look for either of you."

"We'll be right there," Simon assures her. 

"Be quick," she warns, eyeing us suspiciously before heading back inside. She'll demand an explanation for this tomorrow, I can already feel it. 

"Let's talk about this later, yeah? It's all going to be fine. I promise." 

It won't be. I don't believe this rejection from my family will  _ ever  _ stop tearing my apart, but I nod anyway. "Alright, love." 

He kisses me, and I kiss back, and that's all that matters. All that's worth thinking about right now is how much I love him. 

I never thought I would get this far. Surviving past the age of eighteen. Getting to spend the rest of my life with the boy I've wanted for years and years, who loves me despite my vampirism. Who knows the very ugliest parts of me. Who always comes back to me, even when we fight. Who makes me laugh even when I'm breaking. 

Who saved my life.

Who said,  _ 'I do' _ .

We walk back into the cottage together, holding hands, and I decide I can sulk about my father later.

I've got Simon right now. I've got him for the rest of my life, and he has me. I wouldn't want it any other way.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Is it canon that Simon brought back a cowboy hat from America? No. Will that stop me? No.


End file.
